


Peace Found, Homeward Bound

by tarahptrell



Category: Hannibal (TV)
Genre: AKA some fucked up shit, Cannibalism, Fun times for everyone, Hard vore, I don't even feel sorry for sinking my own ship for the sake of writing, M/M, Season Three Finale, Vore, cliff diving
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-09-20
Updated: 2016-09-20
Packaged: 2018-08-16 07:56:04
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 634
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8094217
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/tarahptrell/pseuds/tarahptrell
Summary: The blood looks black in the moonlight. They were one, moving together, working together as a singular being. A hit, a slash, the Dragon was slain. Their Becoming is upon them.





	

The blood looks black in the moonlight. 

They were one, moving together, working together as a singular being. A hit, a slash, the Dragon was slain. 

They collapsed to each other's arms, the waves crashing beneath them as furiously as the passion in the air, gripping each other as if they were afraid this fragile moment would escape them if they didn't hold tight. The more they squeeze, it feels the more this is slipping away. 

"This is what I've wanted for you," he breathes, voice heavy and raspy. "For us."

"...It's beautiful."

They cling to each other, blood soaking through their fingers and through fabric, bleeding them together, sewing their completeness. Forming their Becoming. 

Lips linger and nearly brush. The overwhelm of the moment is too much for simply human shows of affection and passion. This is ethereal. Otherworldly. Any form of communication is lost upon them aside from the desperation in their eyes. 

And then they tip. 

Gravity grips them tighter than they embrace, the wind rushing in their ears being the only sound managing to deafen the simultaneous frantic beat and race of their hearts. 

The sand and surf catches them painfully and the blackness hits like a blow to the head, a winding kick to the stomach. 

He rouses, time a blur, eyes fluttering open before the concern settles in his chest. His gaze flits about, desperately searching the crashing blackness for a form, a sign, anything. 

He lunges, taking a risk, and grabs hold of something firm, pulls, and pulls. 

They collectively collapse on the surf below the rock face's edge, again falling into the familiar embrace. 

Wordlessly, hands fumble at clothes, tearing buttons and baring their bloodied chests. 

They mesh together as one, kisses only broken for the air they need to breathe in from each other. 

They kiss, kneeling, naked, hands mapping out as much skin as possible because none of this is ever allowed to be forgotten, nails digging in. 

And then I bite. 

I tear out his fucking throat. 

The half-lidded look on his face morphs into pure shock, something also vaguely showing betrayal of a very intimate form, but simultaneously he doesn't seem very surprised. 

His heart loves me enough to grace me with his blood. I lap it up, drink it in, bite again and tear more, moaning gutturally. The light slowly drains from his eyes as the eon drags with every pump of his heart, drenching me in moonlight-blackened life. 

I shove him down and he tries feebly to back away from me, but my mouth is on his abdomen, biting and tearing flesh open, my hands joining the foray to rip my love to shreds. 

Each bite is heavenly, each bite is the forbidden fruit, and damned if I'm cast out from Eden for giving in to my darkest temptation. A bite, a swallow, a bite, a swallow. I dig deeper, burying my face in my love. 

I don't stop until I'm sated and he's how he should be. 

I would never have found peace if he were only mine. He needed to be more. He needed to be me. 

Kneeling beside the devoured corpse, bones shining white in contrast to the pooling black, I stare wistfully and exhausted at my creation. 

He couldn't be more beautiful. 

I commit this moment to memory to enjoy later as many times as I like before dragging the body to the surf. He will rest at sea, and safely within me. 

I press a tender kiss to his lips before the tide drags him away. True Love's Kiss will wake him in the afterlife, where I will meet my love. 

I dress solemnly into my soiled clothes and stumble along the surf to where I know the cliff arcs upward. 

Peace found.  
Homeward bound.

**Author's Note:**

> So that was a thing. No idea where it came from, inspiration just sort of hit me in the face. Hannibal most likely runs off to some European country.


End file.
